For the Hopeless

"You should wake up," Tawny murmured. "You've been asleep for almost five hours. It's six in the morning." Bailey barely responded to the girl's softly spoken words, her thoughts shifting briefly from empty black to a barely audible whisper and back again. Physically, there was absolutely no change. She remained still on her bed, beneath the dark covers.

Tawny sighed to herself, her eyes straining in the darkness to take a closer look at Bailey's face. Her expression was calm; and surprisingly, her cheeks appeared to be well on their way to becoming less sunken. Tawny's eyes trailed downward, hoping to spot some more changes for the better, but she saw nothing. The blankets and Dameon's leather jacket obstructed her view.

She rose from the bed's edge for the first time since Bailey's arrival hours ago. Aven and Hayden had struggled bringing her into the house, and Dameon had taken over after that. But after tucking her in and asking a few questions, the others had left. They trusted Tawny to take care of her.

Silently, she approached the window. Between the curtains, she could see glistening snow, bright beneath the light of a nearby lamppost. It had stopped falling, but what was left was thick and heavily packed. She hoped they had nowhere to go today.

"Where am I?" Tawny nearly jumped at the sudden spike of thought. She spun to find Bailey sitting up on the bed, rubbing her head and cringing as though she were in pain.

"Your room," Tawny replied, rushing to resume her perch upon the edge of the bed. "Aven and Hayden brought you back here after your fight at the bar."

"Fight at the bar?" Bailey asked, turning to Tawny. "When I pretty much went psycho and killed all of those people?" Tawny physically jerked back at the sudden onslaught of thoughts and feelings and images. Blood was everywhere, laced with the sounds of screams and tearing flesh, and the mixture of guilt and satisfaction was heavy, even through this vague memory.

"Yes," Tawny replied breathlessly. "Exactly."

"Are Hayden and Aven all right?" Bailey asked, deciding not to pursue the thoughts of her own atrocities. She remembered it all in vivid, gut-wrenching detail. She knew that she hadn't had much of a choice. And it seemed that the bloody rampage had done her some good. She was feeling better. What was the point of discussing it?

"Yes," Tawny said with a gentle smile. "Aven has recovered from the shock, and Hayden was fine to begin with. Would you like me to bring them to you?"

Bailey shook her head, trying to run a hand through her hair and failing as her fingers snagged on the tangles. "No. I'm sure they're asleep."

"Hayden hasn't fallen asleep yet," Tawny said, "and Aven's probably going to wake up soon. She's been having nightmares since she fell asleep a couple of hours ago."

Bailey sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Is there a reason you want me to talk to them so badly? Or are you just under the the impression that I want to talk to them?"

"After what they saw, you should talk to them," Tawny said with an innocent shrug. "That's all. I'm sure you scared Aven pretty badly."

"And Hayden?" Bailey shoved the blankets away from her legs, only then realizing that she was still wearing Dameon's jacket. A smile ghosted its way onto her lips.

"Something's bothering her," was Tawny's simple response.

"Do you know what?" But Bailey's tone suggested that it wasn't a question of whether she knew or not. It was a question of whether she would be willing to share.

Tawny let a devious smile slip, only proving Bailey's point. "You should go talk to her," she said as she got to her feet, straightening her white skirt. She was dressed like a little doll today, in her cutesy, knee-length skirt and a cutesy blue top.

Bailey cocked an eyebrow. "You weren't wearing that yesterday," she pointed out, looking the petite girl over. "Do you think you're up for the day?"

Tawny offered another of her pretty, innocent smiles. "Yes, I'm up for the day. I took a nap while you were gone last night, so I'm good to go."

"But Tawny-" The girl pranced out of the room before Bailey could finish her objection, though the thought undoubtedly followed her down the hallway. You need more sleep than that.

She sighed, flopping back down on the bed. Tawny left the house the least, did the smallest amount of work, but she slept the least and carried the most weight upon her tiny little shoulders. She was going to kill herself with all of her worry and vain attempts to help people, especially the people in this house. But was there any way to convince her of that? Of course not. She was too nice, too determined. And Bailey understood her sentiments too well to argue with her about it.

She lay there for a few minutes more before finally sitting back up. She slid off of the bed and headed for the door, but she wasn't on her way to where Tawny had suggested she go. She was on her way to Dameon's room.

"Dameon?" she asked softly, pushing the door open. "Are you here?"

"Yeah," he said with a sad sigh, "I'm here." He was lying on his bed, directly across from the door. When Bailey poked her head in, she saw him, barely covered by his own dark green blankets. His torso was bare; and even in the darkness of early morning, she could see his defined abs, the pale scars like claw marks across his chest, even the small black paw print tattooed on his stomach, just above his right hip – the symbol of the pack he'd once had.

"Have you slept at all?" she asked in a slightly louder voice as she slowly closed the door behind herself. She figured she knew the answer already, but there was no harm in asking.

"Nope," he answered, just as she expected. "I've been trying for hours, but I've just been too damn worried."

"About what?" was her next question. She slowly approached the bed, finding that he had a forearm over his eyes as if to block out any excess light, though there was none.

"You," he said with a small, barely there smile. She wasn't sure if it was bitter or amused, and it made her a little uncomfortable. Hell, who was she kidding? Just his answer had made her uncomfortable.

"Why would you worry about me?" she asked, her voice betraying none of her unease. She lowered herself carefully onto the edge of the bed, her eyes never leaving Dameon's arm-covered face.

"Because you're you, I guess," he said with a light laugh. He uncovered his face; and now, he wore a clearly amused smile. "I suppose it was silly of me. Usually, if you make it home, you're okay." His brow furrowed as his eyes landed on her face, wandering as if he were searching for something there. "You're looking better."

"I'm feeling better," she said, doing her best to smile at him.

"Just because you went a little psycho at the bar?" he asked, brow still furrowed. He was confused, but she couldn't blame him. She didn't understand it much, either.

"I guess so." She shrugged, looking down at where her hands rested upon her lap.

"But that never makes you sick like this. It's usually because you're-"

"Depressed, yes," she finished for him, shooting him a quick, half-assed smile before looking down again. "I guess it just made me happier."

"Does this mean you're better for good?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at her. "Or at least until you start thinking about it again?"

She let out a laugh, one much harsher than she'd intended. "Do you think I ever stop thinking about it?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"It wasn't your fault, Bay," he said softly, now fully sitting up. "Just like the bar wasn't your fault, and whatever happened at Aven's house wasn't your fault."

"I killed him, Dameon!" she screamed without meaning to. Half the house was probably awake now, and poor Tawny had probably just fallen off of something. "Noah is dead because of me! They all are!"

"I'm not," Dameon argued, though his voice was soft, his eyes full of so much knowing sympathy that she couldn't bring herself to face him. "I made it. You saved me."

Bailey lurched to her feet unsteadily. "I brought your jacket back," she said in a more controlled tone, though her voice cracked again. She stripped the thing off quickly, as though she were eager to be rid of it, and threw it across the werewolf's bare torso. "Not even a scratch." Without looking at him, she started for the door.

"Bailey," he called after her. "Bailey, come back!" But she threw the door open, pushing past the small crowd that had gathered about the door with ease. Tawny was there, and Hayden and Aven.

"Who's Noah?" Tawny asked, her face stone cold and serious. He instantly forced his thoughts elsewhere, to much less serious matters. Her face became harder. "Who is Noah?"

"Talk to Bailey," he told the girl as a Tom-and-Jerry-esque cartoon bounded through his mind. "I'm not permitted to tell you anything." She turned with a flare of her pretty little skirt, looking dangerous and intimidating even in her doll-like outfit.

"She was crying," Hayden said softly, her expression far more serious than any he'd seen on her face before. "Bailey never cries."

"Go to bed," he told her. "You, too," he added as his eyes flicked to Aven, wide-eyed and confused at Hayden's side. "It's none of your business. Either of you."

Hayden wanted to argue; but she said nothing, instead storming off down the hallway, back to her room. Aven frowned at Dameon for a moment, but she, too, left without another word, even closing the door for him.

Left alone in the room, he sighed, taking the leather jacket in his hands. He brought it to his nose, and a single deep breath brought with it the scent of Bailey. He wondered what she was telling Tawny...

-

"Who's Noah?" Tawny asked, hands on her hips and a stern look on her face. Bailey sat on the couch before her, her dark eyes upon the girl's bare, dainty feet. She was silent. "Who is Noah?" Tawny asked again, slower and a bit more loudly. Once more, she received only silence in response. "You can't do this forever, Bailey. Either say something now, or I'll just keep asking until you let something slip."

"Why are you so set on getting an answer?" Bailey questioned in her most stoic tone. She looked up at Tawny with red, puffy eyes. "It has nothing to do with you."

"If it has something to do with you, it has something to do with me." Her tone had softened, her expression doing the same. She crouched down before Bailey, putting her just below eye level with the taller woman. "Just tell me. It might make you feel better."

Bailey searched Tawny's face for a long, silent moment. Then, finally, she spoke. "Noah was Dameon's brother. He and I...we were supposed to get married." She dropped her gaze once again, watching her hands as they writhed and twisted about each other. "He and the rest of Dameon's pack died in an accident...caused by me." She clenched her teeth for a moment, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to keep herself from crying again. "I killed them all."

Tawny frowned. "What happened?" she asked softly, resting her hands lightly upon Bailey's knees in an attempt to comfort her.

"What happened in Aven's house. What happened in the bar. What's happened countless times before. I lost it," she whispered, hiding her face in her hands. "But this time, I didn't kill anyone who deserved it. I killed innocent people."

"And it wasn't your fault," Tawny said softly. "Again. It's never your fault."

Bailey let out a dark, quiet laugh, looking into the girl's face with such desolation in her eyes that she didn't even look like Bailey. "How many times does it have to happen before it becomes my fault?"

The truth of those words rendered Tawny speechless.

If it was she who did it, she whose hands were covered in blood, whose strength it was that tore the bad and the innocent to shreds, wasn't it technically her fault? It wasn't her will, but it was her. It was her power's fault. But the power was a part of her, so...was it her fault as well?

Bailey wore a cold smile when Tawny returned from her confused thoughts, wide-eyed and still speechless. "See? You can't defend me anymore, can you?" With that, she rose; and Tawny's hands slipped away from her knees as she walked away, right out the front door and into the chill of another snowy, early morning.